Mountains of Mourne
Will this place, Collapse on me, If I learn to believe in me, and I break down these shackles, Of love and dreams, and pray for a world, Of sadness and pain? No one dies, bathing in, The winter rain, and getting burnt in the summer sun, But I will die, If not for the hurt in my life, But for the lies I hear, and all the misdeeds, I bear. I will raze all your rotten crops, All your decaying fruit, and I will laugh and speak,"Come, Lash my bruised back" "And kick my teeth too, if that pleases you", I will sleep happy that night, for having lessened your troubles and all your blight. Happiness, does it slowly turn to a sore, Or, does it make you addicted, and you want more, You go queasy and it festers, open and bleeds, And then you long for loneliness,your mountain of Mourne, In your place to hide, you sit and mourn.